


Pinned Down, Cut Off

by insomniac7809



Series: Kathleen Shepard [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6115104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniac7809/pseuds/insomniac7809
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last run of the battle on Earth, Garrus Vakarian finds himself cut off from his team.</p><p>Minific inspired by a moment in my recent playthrough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinned Down, Cut Off

If nothing changes, Garrus Vakarian has less than a minute to live.

He's huddled behind a patch of rubble in what's left of London, on Earth. Thirty seconds ago, this was a sniper's nest, a perfect place to give Shepard and Liara cover fire while they fought at the front against waves of the Reapers' monsters throwing themselves at their position beside the missile batteries. He was taking out incoming before they could move into position, throwing mines into lines of advance, thinning out clusters while Liara's biotics and Shepard's assault rifle tore apart anything that got close. Listening to ninety-nine turians singing in perfect unison on his visor's earpiece. _Stand proud, children of Palavan! Fear nothing the universe might bring! Know that, wherever you go, you do not go alone..._

Fifteen seconds ago, the Reaper's heavy weapons fire forced the two of them to take cover in the remains of an abandoned storefront. Forcing them out of Garrus' sight.

Ten seconds ago, a pack of Brutes was on the two of them, forcing them to keep moving or be torn apart. Forcing them away.

Now, they're split up and cut off. The space between them is a mass of hostiles. His perfect sniper's nest has him caged in, keeping him in cover and alive as long as he stays exactly where he is, while more of them keep pouring in from every direction.

Cut off. Pinned down. Holed in. Every time he pulls the trigger on the Widow, the anti-tank rifle sends a shock through his whole body and another one of them drops in a spray of gore and tech, but it's not going to be enough.

Not too different from when he was on a balcony, overlooking a bridge, watching every hired gun Omega's biggest employers could pull together and file into his kill shots. Running out the clock. Holding out until he can't. This is closer and faster, but in the end, there's only one way it goes. One way it can end without a miracle.

She came through, that time. Have to trust she'll do it again. And keep going, keep trying, no matter what.

He's popping one more heat sink after one more headshot with the bullets zipping overhead when he hears that horrible high-pitched scream and he goes cold right to his gizzard, because things have gotten even worse. 

He pokes back up over the cover and shoots at the leering skull face of the Banshee, slinking toward him with the Cannibals and Marauders on its heels. The bullet shatters on its barriers and he ducks behind cover to ready another shot. Not quite fast enough—the kinetic barriers on his armor take a few more hits. Force him into cover for a few more fractions of a second. Let the Banshee get that much closer before he can break cover.

“Garrus!” Shepard's voice in his ear. He can see their position on the visor. Not close enough.

“We're en route!” He can hear her gunfire on the radio, and coming closer across the battlefield. Not fast enough. He takes down a Husk, trying to run him down in cover. Costing him another second. “Hold on!”

He just needs to buy himself a few more seconds. He sets his omni-tool to overload, try to break the thing's shield—

There's a flash of light and it's on him, reaching its talons to jerk him out of his hole, pulling him into the line of fire for the rest of the monsters swarming him. He fights, but he might as well be wrestling a docking clamp. His shields are straining under the gunfire, but it doesn't matter. It won't be long enough to matter.

It takes his head almost tenderly in its withered claws, holding his face gently, but with fingers as cold and immovable as iron rods. A nightmare parody of Shepard's hand, warm and soft, brushing over the scars on his face, the shattered remnants of his markings. (Strange to remember how bizarre they used to feel. Strange to think they won't have another chance.) Empty grey eyes instead of brilliant green staring into his, close enough to smell the Banshee's breath, the stink of death and ozone.

Not long enough. Not good enough. Or just bad luck. Hardly matters now. Sorry, Shepard. Snipe one for me, and I'll meet you at the bar. 

The voices on his earpiece swell. _Go forth, children of Pallavan! Advance shoulder to shoulder! What can we ask but to live for our people? Who can give more than to die for the—_

The world bursts into sudden sound and light, blinding and deafening. He hits the ground hard, and the song on his earpiece is replaced by the ringing in his ears. A hail of shrapnel bounces off his armor, his body is sending shots of pain from his spurs to his fringe, but he isn't complaining.

Because there she is, riding in for another rescue. She's covered in blood, some of it hers, most of it not. She's tired and filthy, and loose strands of hair are matted to her face with dirt and sweat and grime. Her eyes are burning green and her scars are burning red and she's breathing in long ragged breaths and he can see that her knees are shaking but her gun is steady and Spirits she looks so beautiful right now.

The Banshee is on its knees, screaming that awful high shriek that he can feel right to the bone, but the cold feeling is gone because now everything's changed. Shepard's spent clip goes bouncing into the dirt, and she steps forward as she raises the rifle.

“Get away from him you _**BITCH!**_ ”

Garrus reaches for the Widow on the ground beside him, pulling himself back up into a firing stance. “Cutting it close this time, Shepard.” 

But it doesn't matter how close it was. No use dwelling on the maybes and almosts and could have beens. He's clear, she's with him, and the mission's still on.

Liara's trailing behind with her blue halo, throwing around the creatures like dust in a storm, keeping them clear. Five seconds ago, he was staring death in the face. Now, he's ready to take on the galaxy.

Shepard and Vakarian do what they do best.

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is--a gameplay moment, with some Aliens influence.
> 
> I know the song doesn't rhyme or scan, but believe me, it sounds better in Turian.
> 
> C&C always welcome.


End file.
